


crush of bodies against mine (you squeeze my heart to a pulp)

by chambers_none



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:59:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5583304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chambers_none/pseuds/chambers_none
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"D’Qar is lovely, but little. Well- the outpost is, anyway. Rey doesn’t know how to feel about the place; she adores it, can’t get enough of the lush woodlands and the multiple bodies of water, but on the other hand, it’s unbelievably cramped. And after years living on Jakku, where the desert is as expansive as it is terrifyingly lonely, the rush of bodies around her is perturbing. General Organa explains to her it was never refurbished, never renovated, so the small outpost for the Alliance remains as it was meant to hold perhaps only a hundred, not over two thousand."</p><p>In which Rey shares a bed for the first time in years, Finn doesn't belong with anyone else, and Poe Dameron, Resistance pilot extraordinaire, wears printed pajama pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crush of bodies against mine (you squeeze my heart to a pulp)

**Author's Note:**

> Anon asked for, "the difficulties of housing in a crowded rebel base. 
> 
> I really love this idea, so I'm going to take it and run, and this will potentially expand.

D’Qar is lovely, but little. Well- the outpost is, anyway. Rey doesn’t know how to feel about the place; she adores it, can’t get enough of the lush woodlands and the multiple bodies of water, but on the other hand, it’s unbelievably cramped. And after years living on Jakku, where the desert is as expansive as it is terrifyingly lonely, the rush of bodies around her is perturbing. General Organa explains to her it was never refurbished, never renovated, so the small outpost for the Alliance remains as it was meant to hold perhaps only a hundred, not over two thousand.

“We don’t have the funds, the time-” and she feels horrible for even tensing up slightly whenever the pandemic of people encroaches too much upon her. The holonet reveals a word: _claustrophobic_. Rey, with all the might of the Force, is claustrophobic. It doesn’t matter that the Resistance _is_ trying to expand, because clearly despite the passing nature of its inhabitants, there are still more residents than it can accommodate. But construction is slow, a secondary priority; even after more residential blocks are built and a new hangar is done the riot of noise that people bring scares her. It doesn’t make sense; all the years on Jakku yearning for contact and now she feels faint when in a crowd.

It doesn’t devolve, thankfully. It really isn’t too bad most of the time- only in the busier ports or the comms room, wherever a hive of activity is necessitated by external circumstances, new developments- that there are too many people. And sure, she’s usually drawn to the forefront of these things, but it turns out being part of the Resistance sometimes means waiting. Long lulls between directives spent training and learning, and being patient, which she’s excellent at. So technically, there shouldn’t be a problem with the rebel base being packed at all.

Except, of course, the sleeping arrangements.

The dormitories are segregated into three main buildings, of which are generally classed by one’s skillset. The pilots and soldiers in one, the technicians in the other, and the tacticians and strategists in the dorm closest to the command centre. Few personnel receive their own quarters, with privacy the privilege of the top-ranking Resistance officers. Most make do with several bunk beds in a shared space, which bodes well for the Resistance anyway, since trust and camaraderie does help the cause. It’s good, almost necessary even, for their forces to be tight-knit, so that communication is possible, missions are carried out seamlessly. Squadrons are their own families; they live together and work together, with one shared purpose guiding them.

Neither Rey nor Finn fit those groups neatly.

For one, Rey learns separately from the infantry, what with her instruction coming direct from Skywalker himself. If she does make friends, it’s not based on who she shares a bunk with- people tend to come and go, so she finds her company becoming the oddest mix of Resistance members. Jessika Pava teaches her how to swim; Prindel is a familiar face when she waits for Finn to wake; Statura will eat with her in comfortable silence. She has no niche, and has no intention of disrupting any dynamic already formed, so she carves out her own relationships here and there. This Statura does comment on. “You need someone who is as much an odd duck as you are,” and they both know he’s talking about Finn.

Only, Finn doesn’t have anywhere either. He was raised amongst Stormtroopers, so he can handle instruction, and would’ve fit anywhere well, except it seems the droids have forgotten to actually assign him a proper place in the Resistance. His vitals were always promising but his coma was prolonged for more than normal that only two weeks after she returns with Luke do his eyes open. It’s a dilemma, then, to arrange the both of them actual beds (Rey spends most of her time utilising the Millennium Falcon’s sleeping quarters awaiting further instruction) until of course, Poe speaks up.

“You know- I have a room.”

Finn frowns. The concept of personal space, a private sanctuary, is foreign to him. “No,” he stretches out the syllable, “you don’t.”

“I do too.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not? Look, I’ll just tell the General to move the two of you in. The bed’s bigger than most, it can fit the three of us fine, unless Rey? Maybe you want a foam mattress, or-”

“No, that’s alright, but Poe-”

“No arguments. The both of you need a space, I have one, it’ll be fine!” His eyes are teasing, daring them to challenge him.

They don’t.

So that’s that, then, it’s settled in a matter of hours. They dig out another pillow or two from the inventory, when Rey didn’t even know that was possible, and lug all their belongings to Poe’s room. His quarters are spartan, and that only makes it near impossible to look away from the bed, which is the focal point of the entire room. It’s bigger than the single beds most Resistance members have, as promised, but not as big as she’d like. Not big enough to fit the three of them comfortably, with breathing space per person. Not that she’d thought that was possible, of course, but the thought of being that close to Finn and Poe-

When nighttime falls, it’s an awkward affair. They undress silently, not daring to look at each other, until Finn braves a comment. “I didn’t know pajamas looked like that,” his voice is tinny and tense, and Rey spins around immediately, on high alert. Then she looks, really looks at Poe’s slacks, which are covered with- little fighter jets.

Then Finn looks at her, eyes alight with a childish amusement that she’s never seen before, and they both double over with laughter. When they turn to the owner of the pants in question, he affects an offended look, but his smirk borders on pride. It doesn’t make sense. Rey hears herself laughing, but it is distant, and she is caught on the memory of his eyes flashing at her, a clandestine wink she wasn’t really meant to see.

The bed is warm, she thinks absentmindedly. Of course it is. Jakku is an uncomfortable, searing heat that strikes your skin no matter how hard you try, and anywhere else is almost unbearably cold, the lack of heat a striking reminder of how far she’s come. Finn and Poe bracket her like parentheses, and their breathing patterns are too careful to be relaxed. She feels the same, hyperconscious of where their bodies touch. Her fingers curl around Poe’s sleeve, Finn’s shoulder hovering centimetres from her cheek. Her knee is locked in, slotted next to Poe’s shin; Finn’s hip juts almost uncomfortably against her waist. She doesn’t dare to breathe too loud for fear of trembling and pushing herself in their envelope of limbs any further. Any deeper, and she might never get out.


End file.
